


'Tis the Season

by okapi



Series: Joe & Nicky's Christmas [The Old Guard] [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, M/M, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, booker in exile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Joe and Nicky buy a Christmas tree for Nile.Short, fluffy one-shot with a touch of Charlie Brown Christmas. Joe/Nicky. Book of Nile goggles optional.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Joe & Nicky's Christmas [The Old Guard] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062323
Comments: 14
Kudos: 118
Collections: 2020 Advent Ficlet Challenge





	'Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingstoken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstoken/gifts).



> Thanks to Small Hobbit for the beta! For kingstoken for the DW Holiday Wishes event and for Day 1 of Miss Davis Writes Advent challenge: Tis the Season.

“This is new, right?” asked Nicky as they pulled into the lot.

“I can’t remember us ever buying a Christmas tree before,” admitted Joe.

Nicky hummed and squeezed Joe’s hand. Joe squeezed back, and they got out of the Jeep.

The catalyst for Joe and Nicky’s novel errand had arrived earlier that morning by mail.

An anonymous package arrived for Nile from Paris.

Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Nile had made a collective study of the writing on the brown paper, a scrawl which bore every sign of being the product of a drunken lack of coordination fighting to the death with a strict late-eighteenth-century penmanship instruction for legibility.

After humming, harrumphing, and noises of curiosity, the four had shared a silent glance of a single word.

 _Booker_.

Over Nile’s protests, Andy had supervised Joe and Nicky’s examination of the package, and when she was satisfied it wasn’t a tracking device, an incendiary device, or any other kind of device, she gave it to Nile to open.

“Oh!” Nile gasped as she lifted an object from many layers of packing material.

“It’s an angel,” whispered Nicky, his lips curling in a tiny smile. “A Nile angel.”

It was, indeed, a beautiful angel, dark-skinned with two long black braids, golden shining wings, and purple flowing robes.

Through sobs, Nile explained. “This was the angel on top of my family’s Christmas tree!”

For a few minutes, Nile only had eyes for the angel, but Andy shot a look at Joe and Nicky which said, in no uncertain terms,

“Christmas is shit but find a tree for this thing. Now.”

Joe and Nicky nodded dutifully. Orders were orders even when they were unspoken and you were an army of four.

“We don’t want anything too tall,” said Joe, thinking aloud as he surveyed the trees in the lot. “Nile should be able to see the angel. That’s the whole point. We don’t want anything too big, either. We’ve got to get around it to decorate it. The safehouse isn’t that big. It should be sturdy, though, with lots of branches, needles, whatever. It shouldn’t be sparse. Or scrawny. Right?”  
  


“Right,” said Nicky, humming and squeezing Joe’s hand again as he looked around. “It smells so good here. Should we get a wreath for the door, too? And stockings to hang by the chimney with care?”

Joe smirked. “I know what I want in my stocking,” he retorted and winked at Nicky.

Nicky’s eyes shone brightly, but in the next moment, Joe was all business again.

“No, I think a wreath might be too much. After all, it is a safehouse, not a country manor. If we manage a tree, we’ll be doing all right. You and Nile are in charge of the decorations.” His voice was firm on this final point.

“Mm-hm,” agreed Nicky.

“All right. Let’s be systematic about this,” said Joe. “One by one.” He pointed. “No, no, maybe, no.”

After twenty minutes of ruthless efficiency, they’d narrowed it down.

“This one, Joe. This is the one.”

“Don’t say that too loud,” cautioned Joe.

“You two have got a good eye. That’s a beaut,” said a gruff voice behind them. “Yes, sir, that is the finest Douglas fir I’ve got on the whole lot!”

Joe turned slowly. He didn’t crack his knuckles or roll up his shirtsleeves or unsheathe a weapon, but he was preparing, in his mind, as the scion of a merchant family who had almost nine hundred years of haggling under his belt, to wage the kind of war he liked best, the bargaining kind.

Nicky, recognizing the expression on Joe’s face, promptly wandered off, remaining within earshot in case he was needed, but not really wanting a ring-side seat to the figurative bloodshed. In nine hundred years, he’d witnessed plenty of it.

* * *

“That?!” Joe gave an snort and threw up his hands in a theatrical gesture. “That’s your final offer?!”

“That’s my final offer!” countered the tree vendor.

“Joe.”

Two sets of eyes turned toward Nicky, who was hugging a pot which bore the phrase ‘Tis the Season’ painted rather inexpertly in red and green around the middle. The pot held a tree or, perhaps more correctly, it held a sickly-looking stick with a few needles desperately clinging from its drooping limbs.

“Nicky!”

“It was over there, at the edge of the tent, Joe, on the ground. Everyone kept walking past it.”

“That’s because it’s dead, Nicky,” said Joe gently.

“It’s not dead. It just needs water.” Nicky’s brow furrowed, and he hugged it tighter to him. “Maybe some freshening of the soil, too. I’ll tend to it. And when it perks back up, maybe I could decorate it. We could have it in our room. Or not. It could be nice, Joe, with a little bit of care. I’ll take care of it.” 

The bright blue eyes said ‘please,’ and Joe rubbed his face with his hand. He knew his haggling was over.

So did the tree vendor.

“My final offer,” the vendor repeated with victorious grin. “And I throw in that,” he pointed at the pot, “for free!”

Nicky and Joe pulled out of the lot with the handsome, not-too-tall, not-too-big, sturdy, green, rich-smelling Douglas fir strapped to the roof of the Jeep.

Nicky held the pot in his lap. He looked down at the little almost-tree, and his lips twitched in a manner Joe knew meant he was very happy. Joe’s heart warmed. That twitch was worth far more to him than the ten dollars he was absolutely certain he could’ve gotten knocked off the price of the tree if he’d only had thirty seconds more with the vendor.

“Tis the season,” said Joe, nodding at the pot.

Nicky was thoughtfully silent for a minute, then he said,

“Love is always in season, Joe.”

What could Joe do?

There was nothing for it but to put his foot on the brake and lean over and kiss Nicky until the car behind them began to honk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
